I often do not know what to write.

I sit down with my paper, pen, or keyboard, and no words can be chipped away.

Flashes of words pass me by at the most inconvenient times:
while I study, in a group, spelled in the leaves passing by in the car window

How do you write?

There were times when pens held no ink

papers were never blank

notebooks always filled.

Why did I write?

The love was strategically broken down into reasons I should be accepted into an institution rather than supported by the act

What is fraud?

The pestering of words running through my head, calling for my attention like the toddler who called out for her mother holding her bleeding knee.

The looming silence louder than any young shriek of joy, or the banding together of voices singing a Christmas carol, all louder than the

growing

distance

being created between my notebooks and me.

What is an institution?

Is it a business? Is it a calling?

Is it just the socially acceptable solution to not have your third cousins from your father’s great-grandmother’s side question your decisions about your future plans and what your success story will be and

Stop.

Pick up the pen, open the notebook, and turn on your laptop.

Breathe in, write a word, and go.